


Isn't Everybody?

by apacketofseeds



Category: Monty Python RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Drabble Collection, First Time, Hair Kink, Lap Sitting, M/M, Open Relationships, Self-Indulgent, Triple Drabble, mentions of Graham/David, mentions of John/Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29643927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apacketofseeds/pseuds/apacketofseeds
Summary: Four triple drabbles about Graham's first sexual encounters with the Pythons.
Relationships: Graham Chapman/Eric Idle, Graham Chapman/John Cleese, Graham Chapman/Michael Palin, Graham Chapman/Terry Jones
Comments: 13
Kudos: 12





	Isn't Everybody?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Graham's interview with George Melley in which he answers "Isn't everybody?" to the question, "So, you're bisexual?"
> 
> The order is:  
> (1) Graham/John  
> (2) Graham/Terry (with mentions of Graham/David)  
> (3) Graham/Michael (with implied John/Michael)  
> (4) Graham/Eric. 
> 
> I'm strongly on team Graham/Everyone ;)

“God, I’m sorry,” John gasps. “I’m sorry.”

John’s hair is long at his nape, damp with sweat, curling up. Graham twists it around his fingers and shushes him. He’s needed constant reassurance so far. Graham hopes this gentle gesture, coupled with a kiss to his sunburnt cheek, will prove that John’s first real thrust since sliding into him hasn’t hurt.

He trails his hand down John’s back. He’s shirtless, smells of sun cream and saltwater. Thanks to his beach shorts being halfway down his thighs, Graham can grab a generous handful of his surprisingly lovely backside. Muscles glide under soft skin, tensing and relaxing as John thrusts again, finding his pace. Quite wonderful.

“You sure this is okay?” John mumbles. He stops moving to ask, and it’s torturous.

“It’s amazing,” Graham promises, and he doesn’t use that word lightly. Stroking John’s back, up over his shoulder, he holds his cheek, pulls his face to his so he can kiss his mouth. “As are you.”

“I mean, us, doing this… You’re sure it’s okay?”

This again. How can one man worry enough for ten?

“I’m sure. Now hurry up and fuck me.”

That word is like a spur in a horse’s flank. John bucks, their bodies slamming together, air forced from Graham’s lungs in an ugly grunt. How John’s keeping quiet is a mystery, especially now this act’s finally becoming an action: John’s fucking him, verb, not just lying atop him apologising for having basic urges.

That’s how this happened. Ibiza’s main selling point is women lounging around in skin-tight, barely-there bikinis. John could barely function, would’ve turned into some greasy pervert masturbating himself silly on the sand if he hadn’t done something about it. Graham’s helping out a friend, really. It’s not his fault if he enjoys himself in the process.

* * *

Terry said he’d never done anything like this before. It doesn’t show. Graham planned to take things slow, but Terry’s practically clawing at his hand, leading it between his spread legs with such frantic impatience Graham can’t help giving him two fingers without even warming him up first.

“Someone’s keen,” he sighs against Terry’s hair, sliding straight in to the knuckles.

Terry answers with a high-pitched “fuck”, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Like that, pretty one? Oh… you do, don’t you…”

Terry’s cock does the most wonderful thing. It’s a perfectly normal thing—Graham has assured him as both a doctor and lover—but seeing it rather than feeling it has Graham biting his lip: a copious flood of watery pre-come wetting his smooth, chubby tummy, not soaking into his undies.

“Lovely,” Graham whispers, dipping his tongue into the mess, lapping at it while Terry swears again, going deliciously tight around his buried fingers. “Lovely boy.”

He wouldn’t usually go this fast, especially not with a little angel like Terry, but what can he say, Terry makes him lose his self-control. Bending his legs back, he sinks his cock where his fingers had been, feels Terry’s fingernails scrape down his shoulders hard enough to leave a mark, another ‘fuck’ through gritted teeth in his ear.

“Too much?” Graham asks, voice strained.

“No!”

Of course it isn’t. Terry wants everything and he wants it yesterday. As it turns out, Graham is just the person to give it to him.

He fucks him harder than David’s ever let him, so hard Terry will be limping later, but any moment he slows, Terry grabs and claws and begs for more.

He can’t believe he’s saying it, but, “Calm, darling. We’ve got all night.”

Terry moans even louder when Graham fucks him slow.

* * *

“How do you monogamous lot do it?”

Michael peers up at him, dragging on a cigarette. “Do what?”

“Sustain such boring sex lives.”

Across the bar, Terry’s hand’s finally up the girl’s skirt. Good for him. He’s been trying it all night.

“Excuse me,” Michael laughs. “My sex life isn’t boring!” And he’s so bloody gorgeous when he smiles. No wonder John can’t get enough of him. “Besides, who says I’m monogamous?” His smile falters a little.

Graham’s eyebrows must’ve raised to the top of his head because Michael reaches out to him, worried. “No, don’t,” he says, briefly rattled before his smile returns. “It’s just, Helen and I… uh, we have…”

“An agreement?”

“Something like that,” Michael says, downing the rest of his drink.

“No,” Graham bellows. “Can’t hear you, love!” He raises his voice even louder, turning heads, including Michael’s. “Yeah, it _is_ too loud in here, isn’t it! Let’s get some air.”

*

He’d gotten it out of him, so Graham knows this is the first time in five years Michael’s put his ‘get out of jail free’ card to use. Very good use if the sounds he’s making are anything to go by. That and how he’s grabbing Graham’s hair, shoulders, and shirt, make Graham pretty certain this is the best head little Mikey’s ever received. To think he probably expected another night watching him and Terry have all the fun with the Canadians.

“Wasn’t that more pleasurable than staying faithful because some pious old bastard once said we have to?”

“Don’t tell John,” Michael whispers, playing with Graham’s hair, looking up at him with those fathomless fuck-me eyes. “Please.”

“Why ever not?” Graham says. Butter wouldn't melt.

“Graham.” He’s serious.

Pressing a kiss to Michael’s cheek, he concedes. “Okay, sweetheart. Your secret’s safe with me.”

* * *

At least someone on this shoot has a backbone. Eric hasn’t come to tiptoe around the drunkard, though he did ask if Graham was well enough for visitors when he first peeked his head into his trailer, which was nice. He’s come for medical advice, which isn’t out of the ordinary; the boys all know Graham is discreet.

“It started a few hours ago,” Eric says, head tipped to one side while Graham inspects the slight rash on his neck. He’s still Sir Robin from the shoulders down. “I think it’s that bloody wig.”

Graham feels the texture with his thumb. No lumpiness or flaking, a mere light swelling.

“You’re probably right. Itchy things, wigs. I despise them.” Smoothing Eric’s loose hair back, he seeks other pink patches, parting dirty blond curls with his fingers to check his scalp.

At first, nothing. Though... the longer he searches, the redder Eric’s neck becomes. This colouring seems to be a heat flush, despite it being freezing out here. Is this…?

Eric groans when Graham tugs his hair, a low, guttural sound that doesn’t fit the delicate figure he cuts. The poor man’s head droops against Graham’s palm when he presses it to his forehead, feeling his temperature.

“Sorry,” Eric breathes. “That’s just... so nice…”

They’ve been stuck on these moors too long, in these heavy, uncomfortable costumes. If not that, Graham can blame the drink on being forward. In all the time he’s known Eric, he’s always been precious about his hair, hated anyone touching it. Not now. He practically purrs when Graham draws his fingernails over his crown, lets him pull him off his chair to straddle his lap.

Eric slides his tongue into Graham’s mouth while he massages his scalp, pulls his curls curiously.

Oh, this’ll be a nice distraction.


End file.
